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High on chutzpa & life's endless possibilities

I love my daughter to death. Missy. She turned two years weeks back. Every day I realise she is all I have. Right now at least. It is me and her. Her and I. We. Together. And it is fine. Actually it is great until it is not so great. When I’m overwhelmed and wondering if I will make it to the end. That said, I love being a mom, Missy’s mom. It has completely changed me. I am wiser, I am more mature. I am kinder. I am more empathetic. I’m less selfish. In general. Where before I always put me first, motherhood has taught me (still learning) to practice putting someone else’s needs before my own.

I won’t lie though. I won’t sugar coat it. Especially because people keep making comments that now tire me like: “Lilo, you’re a strong mom, you’re doing a fantastic job. I’m not sure I could do what you do.”

Others, after hearing how I’ve come to be where I am solo parenting say: “Everything happens for a reason. God doesn’t give you what you can’t handle.”

OK let’s just hold up for a second. God DOES in fact give you what you CAN’T handle. Sorry but this is by far my biggest pet peeve. Especially, when these words come from people who don’t really share nor can relate to your story and experiences. Warranted, they may mean well, heaping ‘praise’ on you. Perhaps to encourage or because they have nothing or no idea how to contribute to the conversation or your situation, so they say what they think will ureg you on. To me though, this kind of encouragement only perches me atop some imaginary pedestal that makes me out to be a SHE-RA. A human superhero of sorts; one who bears super powers real or imagined that have somehow enabled me crush all stereotypes and make single parenting look like a walk in the park. Like we woke up one morning as kids and decided: ‘HET! When I grow up I’m gonna be a single parent.

First of all (let me just put this out there), NO ONE save for those who willingly go out and choose to bring home a baby by way of adoption or deliberately have sex with the intention of having one out of the confines of a marriage or a comitted relationship decides to just up and become a single mom or dad. NO ONE. A majority of us fall into parenting solo ‘accidentally’, poor decisions or through life’s design after the death of a spouse. It follows that no one is ever ready to handle becoming a single parent let alone a parent.

For decades, we have witnessed the challenges of raising a child alone from parents before us. Yes, a gazillion people around the world have raised some stunning, brilliant and successful men and women from the ground up-on their own. The Obamas of this world. But there is always a recurring theme in these solo parenting stories: their single parents worked their arses off to ensure they and their offspring made it out alive. So it is not that they succeeded because they had superior mommy and daddy abilities or nurturing capabilities over their non-single parent counterparts. It is just that they had NO CHOICE, but to rise up and DECIDE to be there for their offspring no matter what.

I thus find it odd that people would tell you, “you can handle it”, presuming that they can’t. It’s like saying you can handle death and thats why God or the universe allows death to occur. It’s preposterous to even think that, because no one can handle death. Death is the natural order of things. Single parenting is not the natural order of things. If it were then there would be no need for sex between a man and woman nor the collision of egg and sperm. We would just all lay eggs like chicken and sit on them until they hatched.

I will clarify though, I’m not saying that single parenthood is akin to death. It is not. My point is: I of the single mommy fraternity did not find myself along this journey because I can ‘handle it’, or because I am stronger then the next. If that was the case then this God we peddle around as being fair and just, is definitely not a fair God.

So yeah, in my pursuit to raise my daughter like everyone else there are good days and bad days. There are days I’m high as a kite on positivity and there are days despite putting up a show for the world to see, I want to scream and jump off a cliff. Ok maybe not literally.

Parenting is one of the hardest jobs on the planet. For me raising a child on my own is possibly and even harder job. I know there are folks, who argue that in two parent homes you can still be in a solo parenting scenario. I don’t dispute this and I empathize with folks who are living with irresponsible or absentee partners. However, I can tell you, I sometimes still envy them, as perhaps do they, I. Yes, I love my single mommy life most of the time and the freedom ‘perks’ that come with it; freedom that allows me to for example make all the decisions as concerns Missy without the hassle of having to fight over how to raise her, but I also want to roll up into a ball and ugly cry because the world that believes ‘I can handle it,’ can’t see that I actually aren’t handling it.

You see. I’m always tired. I’m always fatigued. I always feel like I’m not doing enough despite knowing I do what needs to be done; more often than not. It’s hard. I suppose when I finally see Missy off to Uni in 16 years time, or when she grows up into that fine young woman ready to Michelle Obamafy the world, then I’ll not feel like the ‘hard’ was as hard.

Until then, I will continue to fight the sudden tears, fears and fatigue that overwhelm me constantly. I will continue to walk down a road paved with financial and emotional worry. An unending journey that often leaves you feeling very lonely. Hopeless and alone. Alone in the decision making and future planning. Alone even when you’re not really alone.

This post is not for single parents, who can handle it. It is for single parents that can’t, but every single day choose to wake up and have another go, regardless.

And so I pray for all the moms and dads out there pulling off homework, hectic mealtimes, sickly night shifts, mental unending and weighty financial obligations; journeying alone with no sholder to lean on. Who like me, have no freaking idea what the future holds; are completely clueless, relying solely on hope. Hope that their dreams for their offspring will materialize sooner rather than later and that one day it will all stop being so damn hard!

I also pray for you men and women, who quietly yearn for life partners to journey with; who will accept you and your offspring, boldly stepping up to the plate if called upon. Partners with no hang ups; willing to selflessly love you and yours naturally and completely and with no inhibitions. Partners that will be a constant reminder that though you walk alone you are not alone.

For those who say they don’t get love or understand it, I suggest you travel some.

When you travel, especially if it’s for the first time to a new destination it’s possible that you may end up falling in love with the place. You know, love at first sight. This only lasts until you travel to another destination and fall in love with the new one… at second sight. At this point you may say, ‘Ok I think I love destination two more..’ and think you’ve got things figured out until you travel to destination C and D and E, then realize you’re finding it harder to decide, which destination you love the most.

So if you’re like me and finding answers and wanting to be 100% sure about everything is your thing, you decide to start categorizing each new place you travel to according to what you liked most about each one. Sounds like a lot of work right?

It is, especially if you’re well travelled. Still you will find that it becomes easier to categorize your ‘best or numero uno travel destination’ based on common things that you like about the different places. And then you find that oh boy oh boy, a number of the destinations all have similar things that you love. So what do you do? Well again if you’re like me, you start to narrow down on the similar things (or attributes) and start rating them on a scale of 1-10. And then add them to your priority list of things you do or look out for when you travel. You sigh with relief, because it’s now so much easier. Now that you’ve got this, you decide to write an article on the ‘5 top travel destinations in the world’.

Once you’re done writing and happy that you finally gone done it and are 100% satisfied with your review, you go on Google (here is where I now tell you, research is going to kill you) and alas! you come across an article written by someone else on the top 5 travel destinations👀. You Google some more and there are hundreds of articles on top travel spots. So what do you do now? Well you have to now research on those destinations that of course you haven’t been to as you add them to your bucket list. If you ask me, you can make a good career of this. Once again, you get excited about yet another new destination and plan for it. If you’re lucky you will one day get to strike it too off your list.

Here’s the thing though; a common thread that is emerging is that your world view is completely different from that of ‘your neighbor’ and there really isn’t a ‘top’ travel destination in the world as you have been thinking. I mean just flipping through one travel channel alone will help you discover what Peabo Bryson called ‘a whole new world’. In fact, there are actually like a gazillion top travel destinations just in your backyard let alone in another country. You will also recognize that with 198 countries in the world, you may never really make it to all of them, let alone their popular haunts in your lifetime.

So again, what do you do? Do you continue to grow your bucket list? That’s a question only you can answer. What I’d suggest is in the meantime, maybe begin to appreciating the experiences and the takeaways more; the memories and the fun activities that you remain with for a lifetime.

The good thing about travel (unless you lose your luggage, drown in the sea or are eaten by a shark or any manner of a combination of the above) is, it’s FUN. Again if you’re like me you could have any number of great experiences to talk about. What you did and why you’d want to do it all over again. In the same vein, love is NOT always a one time thing as I was made to believe by (wait for it) Hollywood or the couple that fell in love in campus and got married after and are living happily ever after (no offense to these lucky buggers😉). You can actually fall in love with different people at different times in your life. You can even be in love with different people at the SAME time or all your life. Yeah I said it. It IS possible. It is not sustainable, or emotionally healthy and will probably last a short while and even kill you, but it is possible. Just think of the moments you have taken forever to pick out an outfit in the morning. I mean a measly outfit!!!!

Love is also not about someone else’s experiences. Forget the ‘learn from my love’ story spill. Everything you’ve ever been taught about love is well.. bollocks. There are general guiding principles yes, but there is no universal principle. Some of you need to unlearn these things just so you can begin to really have fun in love. Moreover, you can never be able to love like someone else because duh, no two people feel the same way. And not all men (or women) are the same either. They may look the same, smell the same, even share similar characteristics and love languages, but they are not the same. Someone else can marry a fool and divorce them and you end up with that same fool, years or even a month later, marry them and they treat you like a queen for a lifetime. Truth is some relationships just bring out the best or worst in us, or sometimes a fool becomes wise after gaining new knowledge or experiences. They finally decide to grow up and by sheer luck your stars align and you meet them at the right time period in their lives.

Remember, just like travel, the only thing that is constant in all the different love relationships you (will) endure is YOU.

That said and considering all the above, it follows that love is NOT about one good experience. It can never be, how depressing would that be? Considering a year could be a lifetime, if you only ever had one good love story experience in your lifetime, then your life pretty much sucks. Lol. Sorry but it does and you probably need to live a little😉)

I’m not saying seek out pain either. Nonetheless, once in your lifetime you will lose your luggage, your passport, or find yourself in a Bali prison because you just had to be the idiot, who helped a total stranger carry a bag laced with drugs through customs (ok that should never happen and yeah I’ve clearly watched too many runs of ‘Banged up Abroad’), and yes your heart will be broken. And it can happen more than once, twice, thrice…. Some of us have a higher threshold for pain and stupidity than others. Someone you love will lead you on, convince you to marry them, then one day when you’re fat and ugly will announce that you’re truly fat and ugly and kick your fat ass to the kerb. You will then go burn their car and prepare to sleep in a jail cell for a day or two for your heinous act. It’s ok. It’s not the end of the world or life as you know it. The end of the world is think that love has to be constant.

It can’t be, and was never meant to be that way. Love ebbs and flows; things change, destinations change. YOU change. People also change THEIR MINDS. Your favorite destinations may never remain your favorite.

Your husband or wife of 10 years may wake up one day and want a divorce; your happily ever after just ended, what do you do? I don’t know. But that is why Paul of the Bible perfectly describes love ‘imperfectly’. He uses so many words to describe love: patient, kind, etc. If you think about it, had he only use one word it would imply perfection. How much more chaotic would our lives be?

All these words despite being different and meaning different things nevertheless all aim at the same thing: to move us towards ACTION and CHOICE.

This is something many of us will never quite
get, because we are forever fixated on what love should or should not be, it’s like our fixation on politics or which religion is best and what faith or lack of it means, when we’re one billion DIFFERENT people on the planet!

We’re overly fixated on words and emotions as opposed to the ‘activity’ implied. We also forget that Paul at the time he wrote about love was in fact rebuking a dysfunctional church for their abuse of the spiritual gifts. I’m not a theologian, but surely I can deduce correctly that even Paul as a MAN first, believed that love like travel, is about choices to one or multiple destinations and the actions we take based on those choices.

My loooooong point (some of you are wishing I was Ernest Hemingway right about now😂😂 poleni) is this:

Contrary to popular culture that honors personal feelings above everything, where we do what we want when we want because we “feel” like it and if we don’t “feel” like it, we don’t do it; it’s best to remember that love is not a feeling. It’s a choice.

You choose to fall in love and out of love. Who you decide to travel with, how you decide to travel and where is up to you; but it remains YOUR choice. It’s also predicates an action, one that to thrive has to be forever in motion and buttered with constant activity to remain alive. That’s why we GO on dates, DO nice things for each other and SHOW (our women) and TELL (our men) that we love them.

So if you’re one of those, who are forever cynical about love and all that pertains to it, just quite the race quietly and let those still willing to travel to LIVE and HAVE FUN, because LOVE IS ACTION.

I read somewhere, actually it was in the book: ‘Steal Like An Artist’, by Austin Kleon and I paraphrase that many times when we write down our thoughts and share them with the universe, we’re really just talking to ourselves in the past.

When I read some of my old posts/ writing, I realize how true this is. Often I have thought that I am speaking wisdom to the world in the present, but really, I’m just sharing a mirror reflection of the totality of ideas presently in my conscious and subconscious. Those aha! moments that I would have loved to have embraced in my former younger self.

I suppose this is one such moment.

This morning as I was driving around my hood, with Missy in the back, her dark eyes transfixed and peering through the car window at the seemingly moving trees, cars, people and objects, I realized just how lucky I have been in life and how much fun I have been having recently, because of a couple of good decisions I made slightly over two years ago…one of them being: my choice to have Missy.

I also recognized that not so many people, who have walked a day in my shoes are as lucky or as fortunate; or, as happy. Especially knowing what I know of the life I have lived.
In many ways, God or the universe or fate, any one of them, have fulfilled their guardian mandate through and through. They have protected me over the years and steered me away from what has been a very conflicted and whirlwind ‘story of my life’ that honestly when I look back on, promised a possibly disastrous ending.

For whatever reason, multiple times – too many to count – coupled with many terrible decisions, I have found myself at the ‘devil’s’ crossroad literally speaking; a familiar sounding voice whispering to me, ‘Lilian Okado darling, your strikes are running out.’ Many other times though, my flirting with insanity (especially as a youth) was really not of my own doing; one could argue it resulted from environmental or external ‘situation-ships’ growing up and extending into early adulthood that had nothing really to do with me, but that later as an adult I learnt to accept as: my life.

You can say back then I reeked of silent rebellion, which I believe is the worst kind of a rebel one can choose to be. I say choose, because in many ways I did choose to be indifferent. The kind that not even your family or friends can do anything about, because we are invisible and only operate under the guise of darkness. The silent rebel, who rarely spoke up when unfairly condemned, who never complained or became visibly upset, and even smiled when insulted. The kind when backed into a corner and can no longer breathe or sustain the abuse, will poison your food when no one is watching. Ok not literally󾌵.

I recall with amusement an incident that happened many years ago.

When I was 12 or 13, my older brother (who I now love to death and who generously loaned me a lot of mula, nine years ago to start my very first business..that ahem failed:-)) and I got into an argument. I had apparently ‘touched’ his books (I loved stealing his books) for the hundredth time or something like that and then proceeded to lend one out without his permission. The teenage boy, who I believe must have been fighting puberty, kicked me so hard that I saw stars.

Because I was tiny and couldn’t kick him back hard enough to experience similar pain, the following day, I went and took his brand new collection of ‘Hardy Boys’ that had just landed straight from my dad’s most recent European work tour and gifted random kids in the estate. Then, I waited for war.

Let’s just say later that day, I endured a well deserved lip serving and thorough whooping from my mother. That evening, while I lay in bed my butt aching, I smiled to myself, shocked by the extent of my madness, yet happy still to have rendered equal pain. It had been FUN. Of course, the next morning I had to go find out where those books were and return them.

So that was me. I suppose this was and had been until a couple of years back, my way of handling the ‘madness’ in my life.

Truth be told, back then I was never really completely happy. I’m not even sure happiness was even a word I should have been trying to understand. Nevertheless, ‘I was different’ or felt different (a story saved for my upcoming book󾍇) and grew up asking myself many, many questions. Questions that rarely ever got answered, because I was too afraid to voice them lest I suffer an unwarranted whooping or worse still, be ignored. So I took to writing down my thoughts.

My dad growing up was a strict disciplinarian, who yelled a lot. I hated it. To date, I still can’t stand raised voices or verbal arguments. Give me a pen any day and I will swiftly use it to cut you down to size. Hence, if a day passed when dad didn’t feel the need to yell at something or someone, it was likely the end of the month and he had been paid, or a deal had gone great and he’d come into some lucky money.

So to cope, I took to scribbling down my dissatisfaction and imaginary conversations with him and pretty much everyone else who pissed me off; conversations that at my age then, were pretty darn expressive.

One day, when I had come back from high school boarding during the holidays, my dad happened upon one of my notebooks. I was petrified. I walked in on him in my bedroom perusing through the pages and instead of bailing for dear life, stood transfixed as the time between us stood still. He looked up at me, his expression blank. After a brief pause, perhaps to think, he closed the book and said: “you’re a very good writer Lilian. You should keep writing. Don’t stop.” And walked out.

I think, for me that was the beginning of my journey of ACCEPTANCE. That is also when I fell in love with my dad. Of course I would continue to fall in and out of love with him like the weather many times thereafter because well, he is just that kind of guy. Very likable and ‘annoying’ all at once. But it is on that day that I realized despite his ‘flaws’, he was still my dad and he loved me. I think that realization is what led me to for the first time experience what it felt like to be truly happy.

The second I believe, is when I finally moved out of home, at age 27. Thankfully since, I have had many more of those happy moments.

For whatever reason, this morning as I drove and watched my baby girl through the rear view mirror, gleefully taking in the sights and sounds around her, I was reminded of all this and the fact that indeed, I have come a long way.

I thought of the moments when I would have chosen to crumble and die, but I rose above every situation and chose to move on and be happy. Watching Missy, just opened more of the floodgates of happy. Besides, to think that I am a mom all things considered, is still to date beyond incredible. No surprises there for I still feel I am so undeserving of that great honor.

I also thought back to all the wasted opportunities I had to be happy because someone said something, or someone did something or I didn’t do something or other. Or when I struggled with the realities of my life and self. I thought of just how pointless all that mopping about was. Like who really cares that you think you deserve a better life? What does it matter that you haven’t gotten out of life what you hoped and dreamed of? That you didn’t get a fair chance or that you work so hard yet are barely nearing your end goal. Truth is no one cares. Our reality is such that we get out of life what WE put into it.

Today, I can say that I am one of the most positive and optimistic people I know. I say this because this is a mindset that I deliberately work on building and nurturing everyday. I of course do have my low moments granted, but less and less do I dwell on the unchangeable. This, plus I’m no longer a silent rebel. Instead, I only openly rebel against self pity and any grandiose gestures towards negative stereotypes and limiting beliefs.

I’m of the full understanding and view that if you want something, you go after it. If you love someone, you tell them and if you’re not sure if they love you back, you knock on their door and ask them. If you hate your boss, you fire him/her. If you want to start a business, start it. If you’re in a relationship that sucks, or limits your potential, get out of it or work on it.

If you therefore want to be happy, JUST BE HAPPY!
Don’t just sit and watch your life pass you by. Don’t be a mere spectator; be the main act; and act like you know it! In the process of it all, you will begin to really HAVE FUN.

Thus, watching my little one today reminded me of lasting impressions. How my impressions good or bad can have a lasting effect on who she becomes and likely influence the kind of foundation she will use to come into her own. I was also reminded that though from time to time it’s ok to look at the rear view mirror and ponder over what could have been; our past, our mistakes and even the great moments that were; I can only do so very briefly to avoid getting stuck in rhetoric.

Bottom line, how and who I turn out to be, with all my accumulated knowledge and vast life experiences; how Missy and others, will remember me once I’m done with this life, is really what counts.

So seeing as I’m really speaking to my future self in the past, I Lilian Okado, will continue to choose to MAKE IT COUNT! For I am my problem and also my solution.

I’ve always thought that the ability to precisely share something with another, fairly or equally is near impossible, unless that thing being shared can be divided into exact equal parts and promises to provide the same level of satisfaction for all parties. Or if the parties involved are ok getting dissimilar proportions of the same part because: a) they love Jesus more than hell or b) are just plain altruistic. Majority of us like to think we fall in the latter category until we meet the ‘other woman.’

Think about it, you may agree to share your piece of cake (your man) equally with another (woman), but only if it’s sliced perfectly. But even then, you may still find the consistency of the cream and toppings (your man’s behavior, character, general bed prowess, intelligence, physical attributes, yada yada) to be different per slice, depending on how it is sliced (the good or bad attributes left over when he is with the other woman) and who is doing the slicing (is it your choice to share, his or the other woman’s?) and why slicing must occur (physical attributes, beauty, etc of the other woman vis a vis yours).

Of course, these are not things we spend our time killing ourselves over seeing as there are bigger issues to worry about, like teachers salaries and sharing that national cake. But I digress.

So this afternoon, as I was having my lunch at a certain pork eatery, I had an interesting conversation with two 70+ or so year old white men of British decent. One I can call a friend (yeah I have very eclectic tastes in these humans I call friends), who introduced me to his friend, a recently retired executive of a reputable food company (this is me trying to be vague); a man with a robust somewhat over the top character. My friend naturally piled praise upon praise upon his friend, who no doubt looked the part of a food company bossman. I think my friend may have exaggerated a bit and was looking for contract favors, seeing as only a few minutes earlier, while we were were alone and chatting, he had spoken of how bad the month had been financially.

Barely 5 minutes into the introductions and I had learnt a lot of things I never needed to know about Mr. I-am-the-boss-of-a-food-company that would give the average woman a headache.

It follows that the former CEO, now a full time Casanova, had led a stellar career for decades, whilst also somehow succeeding in convincing three women to share in his success…. ALL AT THE SAME TIME!

This is where I tell the men to vuruta their stools* for tips in philandering.

The pot bellied, seriously freckled dwarf of a man had two wives: a White wife and a Black wife (Kenyan). He had also recently acquired a third woman, whom he had decided to keep as his girlfriend, and who would soon be joining him for coffee later in the day.

I have to admit I was fascinated. How does he do it and where are the mothers of these three women?

The man is having all of them for lunch at the same time and they are only enjoying slices if not morsels of his cake. How odd too that a British man would have two legal wives. Isn’t it like illegal, this thing called bigamy? Or that’s in the US? I thought only Kenyan (read African) men (I’m stoking a fire here) actually do that in the guise of being polygamous (read philanderers).

Anyway, so this philanderer’s wives, apparently–and I say this rolling my eyes, know each other, visit each other’s homes in London and Nairobi respectively and have even become very good friends. Maheni!

I tell you that is a lie! Sssaitan himself!

Every other day girls get into cat fights offline and online, when a man so much as throws a side eye at some diva-looking chic’s hemline. Now you’re telling me that the three women are best of friends? Tolerant of each other, yes. Friends? Whose kidding who? Show me three women who all accept each other’s roles in a mans eyes and I’ll show you three women fighting over his property when he decides to kick the bucket.

I must say though, I was both impressed and irritated by the gall of a man, super enthusiastic about his old dog tricks. As he spoke, I’m not sure why, but I could hear Puff Daddy and Pharrel’s song: “Finna Get Loose” playing in the background. It was like he was playing in his own ‘look at me, gaddammit’ ochestra; the philanderer casually winking at me in mid-sentences, and proclaiming over and over: ‘this is the life no?’

A couple of times I had to turn around to see if he was talking to a waitress behind me. There was no one. He probably had something in his eye, he wasn’t seriously trying to get another recruit (me) into his fantasy world, surely? Where would I fit into his grand plan?

As I pondered over his crass manners, he went on to ‘boast’ that only recently, his UK wife had demanded that his African son (from his Kenyan wife) Baxter, whose name to me sounded like a dog’s, go live with her in the UK because she felt, wait for it: his maternal relatives I.e his Kenyan mom and relatives weren’t capable of treating him as well as she, the white step parent could.

Talk about service above self! That there is some serious cross border collaboration. Some Mother Teresa tear jerking story, the epitome of what true sharing is all about.

And then I learnt that he was slated to travel to the UK for thee months to visit his first wife, after which he’d return to Kenya. I asked him if he would would be traveling with his African wife, to which without skipping a beat responded: ‘no way, they’d kill each other!’

Hence, proving my theory that women just don’t like to share their cake nor slices of it. We will call you boo boo, honey, babes… However, unless we can split our cake (our man) into perfect equal parts, we prefer not to share. Yes, we will pretend to like it, but just like we sometimes pretend to like every thing you say: we do it for the peace and the ‘perks’ that may come with it.

But hey, who am I to speak? To each their own.

Lakini, to the men, let me just tell you.. If I, Lilian Okado, should fall in love with you and become your wife or life partner and you choose to play that philandering game, just know that this manyala jaber will thank you whole heartedly with honey boo boo talk, as I wait for you to die and plunder your wealth.

Then and only then it will be a win win for all. Then will I be able to boast to those, who care to listen that I too have finally had my cake and eaten it.

When you wake up and read a message (above) in your inbox from a “fan”😉. Kumbe all the nonsense I post on here is helpful.. Being a hustler, I believe sharing is caring. So guys please meet Ken Kamau and visit his site www.kennethkamau.com where you can get your own copy of some Kenyan fiction writing. Being a hustler myself, I believe sharing is caring.

Feel free to post your reviews of the book in the comments section. I am sure Ken will be happy.